


S.O.S.

by siesiegirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Star Trek reboot!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siesiegirl/pseuds/siesiegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commodore Gold doesn’t care much for Counselor Belle French “evaluating” the crews of his task force, especially not when they receive a distress call from within the Romulan Neutral Zone.</p><p>Rumbelle Secret Santa fic for the lovely and patient <a href="there-is-irony-everywhere.tumblr.com">there-is-irony-everywhere</a>, who prompted Star Trek AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

~*~

" _Personal log, stardate 2260075. I have received orders to ship out with the_ Aldrin _, to observe and evaluate its crew and the other two ships under Commodore Gold as they patrol along the Romulan Neutral Zone for the next nine months. I feel like I've drawn the short straw; Gold's reputation is legendary, of course, and not in a good way. That's probably exactly why they want someone watching him. Breathe. You can do this, Belle. 'Bravery will follow.'"_ ~ Lt. Cmdr. I. French, PhD

~*~

" _Personal log, stardate 2260096. Commodore Gold has shunted me to the_ Endeavor _; I wonder if he thinks he can keep me off the Aldrin indefinitely. Captain Hopper, at least, is kind and his crew are welcoming and receptive: I was invited to a recital by a crewmember who is a gifted pianist. It was nice to have such a beautiful moment despite our location and mission. Morale is good, and I wouldn't mind serving here if counselors were given more permanent assignments._ " ~ Lt. Cmdr. I. French, PhD

~*~

" _Personal log, stardate 2260112. I am now aboard the_ Iowa _. Captain Nolan and Commander Blanchard are friendly and very... earnest. They weren't hesitant to speak to me, and I haven't seen such idealism outside of fresh-faced Academy cadets. However pleasant it is to see their experiences in the meantime haven't jaded them, it does seem to result in some criticism of the Commodore's decisions. I wonder if their assignment here was meant to teach them some temperance._ " ~ Lt. Cmdr. I. French, PhD

~*~

" _Personal log, stardate 2260143. Having completed preliminary observations on the_ Endeavor _and the_ Iowa _, I have requested a transfer to the_ Aldrin _. Again. It's ridiculous that I should feel like I'm chasing the Commodore. We're both professionals and despite my initial misgivings - and, I admit, prejudice - after speaking to his people I'm certain he and I have nothing to fear from each other. I'm actually very curious to meet him in person now._ " ~ Lt. Cmdr. I. French, PhD


	2. Chapter 2

Lieutenant Commander French was not what Gold had been expecting. A counseling psychologist, he had imagined someone... well, older. Perhaps dried up and with glasses and beady, judgemental eyes - all the better to pierce your soul. The woman who stepped out of the shuttle was, frankly, _not_. He thought perhaps they had sent the wrong person at first, maybe a new nurse for the medbay. This woman was young, with clear blue eyes and a kind smile and dark brown hair pulled into a chignon, tidy but not severe.

"Commodore," she straightened when her eyes fell on him and she saluted. "Lieutenant Commander Isabelle French. Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted," he replied automatically, returning her salute. What the hell was Mills playing at with this assignment? The ink could hardly be dry on this girl's degree. Was she being set up to fail? He wouldn't put it past that spiteful cow of an Admiral, and he smothered the pang of sympathy he felt for French at the thought. No matter how good she might or might not be at it, she had a job to do on his ship, and he wouldn't let her get under his skin before she even talked to him; she'd do her damnedest to shrink his head later and he didn't intend to give her any kind of foothold. He didn't have much use for civilians on ships, and despite her rank, that's what he considered her: someone who wouldn't pull her own weight. These were warships and her skillset had no place on them. He'd try not to get her killed, though, if only because that would give high-and-mighty Admiral Regina Mills ammunition for her little one-sided vendetta.

"Show the counselor to her quarters," he told the crewmen next to him, turning away without giving French a second look.

"Excuse me, sir," she piped up behind him (of course she would), "I'd like to see the ship, get my bearings, get a feel for the place."

"You'll be here for _months_ , Counselor," Gold said, without turning back to her. "There will be plenty of time for that, I assure you." Especially since she wouldn't be doing anything else worthwhile with her time. "Make your appointments and try not to interfere with the running of my ship."

"Of course, sir," she replied, and Gold heard her move, probably saluting again. He kept on walking.

~ * ~

After a few weeks, Gold still couldn't figure out what French - and by extension, Admiral Mills - was _really_ up to. One by one, his crew members reported to her quarters, and came back with nothing extraordinary to relate: no hypnotism hoodoo, no traumatic childhood experiences or bizarre sexual proclivities dredged up from the recesses of their minds, no subtle brainwashing (not that they could tell, though, of course). Still, he harbored suspicions French could be some kind of spy or provocateur; Mills wouldn't bother specifically assigning someone to his ships unless she had a purpose in mind. So Gold put off his own visit to the disarmingly friendly psychologist for as long as possible. Of course he couldn't escape it completely - she would be here for six more months and his ship was small, and besides, how could he find out what she was up to unless he spoke to her? He'd never sent any of his people to do anything he wasn't willing to do - and from the flak that got him around the fleet, he gathered he was willing to do more than most - so finally he made himself ring at her door. 

"Commodore," she greeted him, eyes as blue as her uniform wide with surprise at his presence. "Can I help you?"

Gold's lips curled into a smirk. It was a harmless little idiom, but coming from her it seemed loaded with meaning. _Help_. Supposedly that's what she was there for.

"I noticed you haven't set an appointment for me to come speak to you," he replied. 

French nodded. "I know you're very busy," she said. "And, frankly, I assumed anything I attempted to set would be ignored." She looked him full in the face, as if daring him to deny it.

Gold raised an eyebrow at her cheek. "Learned that from my file, have you?" he asked.

French could have called him on shuffling her around from ship to ship, but instead she _smiled_ , of all things, and stepped back from the doorway, motioning him inside. "You're not the first person I've met who is easier to wait for than to hunt down," she said as she walked toward the sitting area and took up the PADD lying on the low table.

"Are you comparing me to a fish?" Gold asked, stepping inside. Again, she only smiled, and curled herself into an armchair. It was annoying that he couldn't seem to ruffle her. What good was a fearsome reputation if he couldn't bring it to bear against such a small person?

"You're also not my first hostile patient," she replied calmly.

 _Hostile_? Gold wouldn't consider himself hostile; by his own standards he was being downright civil to her. It was true he didn't care to have her on his ship - any of his ships - but if he had wanted to get rid of her, she would have seen 'hostile.' "I'm not..." he frowned at himself. The defensive was seldom a strong position.

"Have a seat," she invited, and he grudgingly complied. She smiled again as if she'd won some victory, and perhaps she had: Gold hadn't intended to actually _talk_ to her, and yet here he was. She set down the PADD again and laced her fingers in her lap instead. "Let's talk," she suggested. "I think we both have some preconceived notions and until those are dispelled, we'll be working uphill. So. I'm Belle," she held out her hand as if they were meeting for the first time. As if they were civilians. He wasn't fooled for a moment that she wasn't still taking mental notes, despite this little charade.

"Gold," he replied, shaking her hand.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Gold," French - Belle, whoever - said, and he wondered how long she would maintain this act. "Where are you from?" she asked.

"You've read my file, haven't you?" Gold retorted, waving a hand dismissively. "All this small talk will be in there."

"All right, then," she nodded. "What was it like? Tell me about it."

Gold sighed. "Looking for some dirty laundry? The conditions of my divorce? Some hook for your fish?" he asked.

"I'm looking for a _person_ ," she replied, still calm and collected, and Gold had to admire her maturity, despite her apparent youth. "I have seen your record, yes, but I find that without context, it means very little. You are more than dry facts and figures and dates."

"Looking for the man behind the monster, then?" Gold grinned wryly.

"You're not a monster," she declared. "I've spoken to many of your people, and none of them have said so. And if you're going to continue to try to bait _me_ , this is going to be a long and tiring process for both of us. Can we please set aside rank and circumstance and just talk as people?"

"I'm not 'people,'" Gold said, almost to himself. 

"How about I start, then?" she said, as if she hadn't heard him, though he knew she must have. "My favorite things are iced tea, an old-fashioned hamburger, and a good book. Your turn."

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled.

"Okay, we'll stay with me for a while," she replied. "Ask me anything."

Gold raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"About me. You know probably as much about me as I know about you, which isn't very much. So, ask me. Let's become acquainted; we'll be together on this ship for several months."

She was right. He didn't know much about her, though other than her purpose in taking up space on his ship and distracting his crew _for several months_ , he wasn't particularly curious. But if this is what it would take to get her to leave him alone, he would oblige her.

"What sort of books do you read?" he asked. That was innocuous enough. 

"I like the old speculative fiction," she replied. "It's fascinating to see how people centuries ago believed the future would be. The nature of space itself and the logistics of interstellar travel and what other species on other planets might be like. They get very philosophical about humanity in the process of discovering what _else_ is out there."

"That's surprisingly fanciful," Gold said. "I would have thought a Starfleet officer with a doctorate would be rather more sensible."

"Life is sensible," she replied with a shrug. "All of my education, my training, all very rational and logical and with sensible explanations. When I take some time out to read something, I want it to be something different. What about you, do you read?"

Gold shook his head. "Haven't got the time," he replied. "I have a ship to run and two others to babysit, if you recall."

"You consider it babysitting?" she asked.

"You've met Nolan and Blanchard and you ask me that?" he replied, and her attempt to hide a smile tugged at the corner of his own mouth.

"Well, _your_ ship runs well," she noted, and with such an offhand tone that Gold actually believed she was sincere, and not trying to butter him up.

"It does," he nodded, and couldn't help the feeling of pride. "Surprised?" he asked her. "Were you expecting to find a crew on the brink of mutiny?"

"Not at all," she replied. "Your record indicates that you run a tight ship, and crewmembers who have gone on to serve under other commanders speak well of you."

Gold found it hard to believe that anyone would speak 'well' of him; perhaps she _was_ trying to butter him up. "You've been spying on me, then," he said.

She shook her head. "I've done reconnaissance," she replied, "That's only sensible. When I was given this assignment I wanted to find out why."

"And did you?" Gold could hardly disguise his interest, since that very question had been on his mind for months now.

"I didn't come across any red flags," she said. "Your record is... not exemplary, but quite good. You make your decisions by the book, which..."

" _Commodore to the bridge,_ " the first officer's voice sounded over the intercom.

"On my way," Gold replied, then inclined his head to her. "Excuse me, Counselor. We'll have to finish this another time." He rose to go and she picked up her PADD and followed him.

"I'm here to observe the crew, Commodore," she reminded him when he cocked an eyebrow at her. 

He frowned. "Counselor, your record indicates that you scored well in quantum sciences."

"I did, sir," she nodded but looked at him questioningly, "I'm sorry, how is that relevant?"

"Then surely you are aware that the mere act of _observing_ may have an effect on the thing being observed," Gold noted.

French was undaunted. "Are you comparing your bridge to a science experiment, Commodore?"

He pressed his lips together. "Stay out of the way," he snapped, and strode off to the nearest turbolift, her footsteps following him through the corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

Commander Jefferson stood up from the command chair when the doors slid open and saluted. "Commodore on deck," he announced.

Gold returned the salute. "As you were," he said, and walked to his chair. Jefferson took up a stance behind Gold's left shoulder and rested his hands in the small of his back. French, as requested, stood near the turbolift doors and watched silently. "Status update," Gold called to the room at large.

The navigation officer reported, "We're approaching the Benson Anomaly."

"I'm aware of that, Lieutenant," Gold said, in a warning, don't-waste-my-time tone. Said anomaly was well-documented, and they hardly needed him to tell them to avoid it.

"Of course, sir," the officer replied, with a nod of her head. "There's also a distress call coming from inside the asteroid field."

Gold sat forward in his chair, looking at the screen with new interest. "So the Romulans finally caught something with those mines, eh?"

"It would seem so," she said.

"The signal is coming from the _Lennox_ , a cargo freighter," the ensign at Communications reported, "They were en route to Carina IV with supplies for the outpost and were pulled from warp by the gravity pulses, and a burst of ionizing radiation has fried their navigational circuits. They are adrift in the asteroid cluster and have already hit one of the mines. They can't avoid them."

"A freighter? Awfully far out here for a supply line," Gold mused with a slight frown. "Tell them to stand by," he ordered the comms officer, "and get me Hopper and Nolan, priority one."

"Aye, sir."

Gold steepled his fingers and watched the screen over them thoughtfully.

"Captains Hopper and Nolan reporting, sir." 

"Onscreen."

The images of the other two captains appeared. "Commodore," Hopper greeted him, and Nolan inclined his head with a, "Sir."

"Gentlemen," Gold said. "We have received a distress call from the freighter _Lennox_ , caught in the Benson Anomaly. They are disabled and have sustained damage."

"Why would anyone even go near that?" Hopper wondered aloud.

"It seems they were carrying supplies to the outpost on Carina IV," Gold replied, "and cut the wrong corner."

"We have to go in there, sir," Nolan demanded with characteristic fervency, "They won't stand a chance against those mines. And if the Romulans have also received the call..."

"Stand down, Captain," Gold gave him a warning look. "I am aware of the gravity of the freighter's situation, but I will not precipitate a war by crossing the border. I want you both to prepare away teams and stand by. Something doesn't smell right here." 

"Of course, sir," Hopper nodded, but Nolan would not be deterred. 

"Every minute we spend could bring the Romulans closer," he said, "We can get in and out before they even know we're here."

" _Negative_ , Captain," Gold said firmly. "And if the _Iowa_ so much as twitches toward the border, so help me, I will string you up myself."

Despite the defiant set of Nolan's mouth, he nodded curtly and said, "Yes, sir."

Gold nodded in satisfaction. "You will be notified of my decision shortly. Gold out." The transmission ended and Gold drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. 

"I don't like it, sir," Jefferson said.

Gold shook his head. "Me neither."

"Then what shall we do?"

"Best case scenario?" Gold replied, "we inform the Romulans and come to some agreement about effecting a rescue."

"Sir," Jefferson pointed to the screen, "they're floating in a mine field and might not have that much time."

Gold frowned deeply. "Join me in the ready room," he said, rising from his chair, and was surprised for a moment to find French still standing quietly near the turbolift - he'd almost forgotten she was there. "Enjoying the show, Counselor?"

"Just doing my job, sir, same as you," she replied.

He waited for her to say something else, to comment on the situation and give her own advice, but to his pleasant surprise, she didn't. He and Jefferson walked to the ready room door and she followed them. He considered telling her to stay - obviously this was to be a private conversation - but then he weighed the possibility that she would object, and frankly none of them had time for that, so he motioned her through the open door in front of them, and ignored Jefferson's curious look.

"Sir, honestly, what are the odds that you can talk the Romulans into aiding a rescue?" he asked once the door closed behind them.

"Slim to none," Gold replied simply.

"You mean to leave them there, then?" Jefferson raised an eyebrow.

"They aren't a Federation ship; frankly it's no concern of ours." Despite his reputation, he never enjoyed making that call. Of course, if they were solidly within Federation space, he wouldn't hesitate to help. But they weren't, and a wrong move in helping them could cost more lives than it would save.

"You're condemning them to..."

Gold cut him off. "They condemned themselves when they decided to take a 'shortcut' through the bloody Neutral Zone, Commander. Their idiocy is not my problem." He could just imagine how well that would go over when counselor French made her report to the Admiralty, though it still wouldn't be nearly as bad as starting a war. He cursed the timing that had her here to witness something like this, but when he looked at her, her clear blue eyes held no judgement. She had one hell of a poker face.

" _Commodore_ ," the Comms officer's voice interrupted his thoughts, " _sensors indicate the_ Iowa _has launched a shuttle toward the border_."

"Dammit, Nolan!" Gold muttered and slammed his hand down on the table. He leaned against it to take a deep breath, then stood up and spoke loudly enough for the feed to catch. "I want Commander Lucas to meet me in the shuttle bay with a security detail and a pilot."

" _Copy, sir. Bridge out._ "

"Commander," Gold turned to Jefferson, "you have the conn until I get back."

"Aye, sir," Jefferson nodded and walked back through the door to the bridge.

"You're going yourself?" French asked, now they were alone in the room. He appreciated her discretion more than he could say, especially in light of this insubordination.

"I have no doubt Nolan himself is on that shuttle," he said, "and probably Commander Blanchard, too, knowing them; and they're unlikely to respond to any authority but my own. Though, evidently, not even that," he finished with a wave to the window as if to indicate the shuttle even now speeding toward the Neutral Zone.

"Permission to accompany your away team, sir?" she asked.

"I figured you'd want to," Gold said with a sigh, though he was pleased she at least asked instead of just inviting herself. "Come along, then," he said, and they walked together to the other door, heading toward the shuttle bay.

~ * ~

Lieutenant Commander Ruby Lucas waited at the hatch of the shuttle as her men and the pilot made the preflight checks. "Sir," she greeted Gold as he and Belle approached.

"Commander," Gold replied. "This is Lieutenant Commander French, she'll be accompanying us in an observational capacity."

"Commander," Lucas nodded to her.

"Commander," Belle replied.

"Clear, sir," the pilot said from just inside the hatch. 

Lucas let Gold and Belle precede her into the shuttle and took her seat next to the pilot as they settled in the back with the two crewmen.

Belle still carried her PADD, though in the close confines of the shuttle, taking notes would be conspicuous and awkward. "We aren't on a rescue mission, are we?" she asked, looking around at the shuttle's occupants. Security personnel and a pilot. No engineer, no doctor. The shuttle couldn't carry back many wounded, and had no towing capability to speak of.

"We are retrieving Starfleet personnel, hopefully before the Romulans show up," Gold replied matter-of-factly.

"What about the freighter?" she prompted.

"The freighter," Gold said, "can pray that Nolan brought an engineer who can fix them before we arrive.

Belle suppressed a grin. Gold didn't truly wish the freighter harm - well, maybe a little, for their folly - but his priorities were clear. Professionally, she couldn't argue with them, though her heart did wish they could find some loophole.

"What are you going to do to Captain Nolan?" she asked.

"That depends on how much of a fuss he kicks up."

"Is he likely to?"

"Oh, he'll stall for as long as possible, probably."

Belle pressed her lips together against noting that stalling only works if the other party plays into it. She was coming to understand Gold's style: the subtle layers to his motivations which most never bothered to find, trained as they all were to follow orders. He constructed that top layer carefully, and she wouldn't shatter it in front of members of his crew; they needed to believe that he was as he seemed and obey him accordingly. What was that old line? 'Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.'

"We're within range of the _Iowa_ 's shuttle, sir," the pilot said.

"Hail them," Gold replied, nodding to Ruby.

"USS _Iowa_ shuttlecraft," she said, "this is Lieutenant Commander Lucas. Stand down. I am to escort you to the _Aldrin_ immediately."

" _Negative, Commander_ ," Nolan's voice answered, which confirmed Gold's suspicion. Belle could feel him tense beside her. " _We have a rescue to perform, and any interference on your part will be considered insubordination. Sorry, Ruby; you know we have to do this._ "

Gold walked to the front of the shuttle. "I wouldn't be one to lecture others in regards to insubordination, Captain," he said, "You're staring at a disciplinary hearing at the very least."

" _Sir, I_ -"

The speakers crackled as a new transmission overrode their channel. " _Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, to any Federation vessels in the area, this is the Federation starship_ Lennox _. We are without power and navigation and have taken damage from the mines in the asteroid field of the Benson Anomaly. Life support is holding and we have injured. Last known position 19.27.56.21. Is anyone out there? Please._ " 

Before Gold could respond, Nolan answered. "Lennox, _this is Captain David Nolan of the USS_ Iowa _. We have received and acknowledge your distress call and are en route for rescue operations. Approaching your last coordinates now._ "

"What the hell does he think he can do with a shuttle?" Gold asked, rhetorically, once the transmission ended. He turned to Ruby where she sat at Tactical. "Can we catch him in a tractor beam?"

She shook her head. "Not if he resists. It's tricky enough holding a steady course through all of this radiation; the beam would break down almost instantly."

"Dammit," Gold muttered. "So if he means to board that ship, we'll have to, as well." 

She nodded.

Gold sighed, and looked like he'd trade their tractor beam for a torpedo right now. "Fine. Follow them in," he said, and resumed his seat next to Belle as the pilot carefully maneuvered them deeper into the anomaly. She tried not to stare and make him uncomfortable, but this _was_ the sort of thing she'd been sent here to do: study him and his people. What decisions did he make, and how? She was finding that was a question not so easily answered as she first thought.

...

"Visual on the _Lennox_ , sir," the pilot said, and Gold rose from his seat again to walk forward.

"Not much, is she?" he mused. It was Federation design - Antares class - though that only slightly lessened his suspicion of a Romulan trap. The most visible damage was to the warp nacelle; they'd need a proper shipyard to repair that. 

"Sensors indicate minor damage to the impulse drive," the pilot said. "Life support is operational and seems stable, but all other functions are dead in the water."

"Lucky for them, given the circumstances," Gold noted.

"I don't imagine they feel particularly lucky, sir." French said archly from her seat.

"We shall see," he said, and a strange sort of calm settled over him as the mystery of this out-of-place freighter replaced his exasperation with the recalcitrant Captain Nolan, like pulling on a jacket. "Commander Lucas, what is the standard crew compliment for this class of vessel?"

"Twelve to twenty, sir," she replied, and Gold felt a twinge of annoyance. There would not be enough space to get everyone out in their shuttles if the _Lennox_ was running with a full crew complement, and even their minimum would be pushing it. He hoped, if evacuation proved necessary, the freighter would be partly automated, and shave a few more numbers off that count.

"The _Iowa_ 's shuttle has docked, sir," the pilot reported.

Gold nodded. "Follow suit. The sooner we get onto that ship the sooner we can get out of here." And if they were lucky, the Romulans would be none the wiser.

"Aye, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

The captain of the _Lennox_ was unkempt, with an air that indicated he was normally so, and not simply because of the current state of his ship. His dark hair was wild and his jaw unshaven, and he moved with an insouciant swagger that bordered on offensive, given the circumstances.

"Welcome aboard, Captain," he said with a little nod to Gold.

"Commodore," Gold corrected him.

" _Commodore_ ," he repeated, with almost facetious emphasis. "My apologies. I don't read Sleeve," he gestured to the rank stripes on Gold's cuff. "Which is Captain Nolan, then?" He looked over the shuttle crews, his eyes lingering on the women with a smirk that made Belle's skin crawl.

"I am," Nolan answered, not-too-subtly placing himself between the man and Commander Blanchard. 

"Thank you for answering our call, Captain, and Commodore," he said. "My engineer has been injured but he tells me our impulse drive should be able to be repaired enough to limp out of here. He and a few others are in our sickbay."

"Show me the way." Nurse Ariel, an Andorian whose slim frame belied the strength and ferocity of her species, stepped up from behind Commander Blanchard with a medkit in her hand.

"Just a moment, Lieutenant," Gold said, and she stopped short at the sound of his voice. "Before anyone does anything, I have some questions."

"I am at your disposal, of course, Commodore," the freighter captain replied, with a saucy little bow.

"Why are you here?" Gold challenged. "Carina IV is not far from the Federation border; why spend longer than necessary in the Neutral Zone, especially near this anomaly which any navigator worth his salt could have avoided?"

"Speed, of course," the man shrugged. "This route is shorter and our cargo is time-sensitive." 

Gold raised an eyebrow. "What _is_ your cargo?"

"Parts and supplies for the colony and science station," he replied.

Gold gave him an incredulous look. "'Parts and supplies' are time-sensitive?"

"Well, if they need them, they need them. I don't ask questions, I just haul and get paid." He flashed a grin which he probably thought was charming, but his simplistic, too-convenient answers rubbed Belle the wrong way, and she could tell Gold wasn't fooled, either.

"I don't give a damn about your wallet, captain," he said. "My only objective here is to-"

" _Shuttle approaching, captain. It's Romulan._ "

The tension in the room rose instantly, and the freighter captain paled.

"Well," Gold said, "Now things are interesting."

"You have to help us," the captain pleaded.

"I don't have to do anything of the kind," Gold countered, "And if my people weren't on board, I'd leave this ship to the Romulans' tender mercies. My obligation is to my crew, not yours."

"But you _are_ on board."

"Indeed." Gold's smile was almost a sneer. "Must be your lucky day." He turned to the shuttle crews. "Commanders Lucas, French, you're with me. Captain Nolan and Commander Blanchard, too: I want you where I can see you. The rest of you stay here with the shuttles, and if I tell you to leave, _get out_. Understood?"

"Aye, sir," their shuttle pilot - a lieutenant and now the most senior of those remaining - nodded. Belle could tell Ariel and the engineers from the _Iowa_ were plainly chomping at the bit to be allowed to do their jobs, but the Commodore was right not to spread them all over the ship, given the circumstances.

The freighter captain turned on his heel and walked to the bridge, followed by Gold and the _Iowa_ 's commanders. Belle fell in beside Commander Lucas, who kept her hand near her holstered phaser as they walked. Belle didn't think they had anything to fear from the freighter crew, but it was comforting to know the other woman was ready, in any case.

They followed the captain onto his bridge and he dropped into his command chair, still shockingly irreverent and careless in such a dire situation. "Hail them," he called out, and one of the crewmen tapped in a code on his panel and the viewscreen changed from the asteroid field to the slender face of a Romulan woman. Belle thought she caught the tiniest hint of a smirk in the corner of Gold's mouth.

"Romulan shuttle," the freighter captain said, "this is the Federation cargo ship _Lennox_. Please state your intent."

" _Lennox_ , I am Commander-General Ael t'Parthok of the _Bloodwing_. You are currently in space claimed by the Romulan Star Empire; you will state _your_ intent as to why you are in our territory," her dark eyes raked over Belle and the others, lingering a bit on Gold, "and with Starfleet officers in your crew."

"They aren't mine," the captain was quick - too quick - to respond.

Gold stepped forward before the captain could make them seem any more guilty, and cleared his throat; the Romulan looked at him and her imperious glare softened just a bit. "Commander-General," Gold said, "I am Commodore Gold, currently on patrol to help maintain the security and peace of the Federation along this border. We picked up the distress call of the _Lennox_ , who seems to have experienced some... navigational difficulties. We are on board to assess the damage."

Captain Nolan took a breath to speak, but Commander Blanchard, to her credit, tugged on his sleeve. Belle, though she was standing near them, almost didn't hear her whispered, " _David_ ," as she shook her head.

The Romulan's attention was on Gold, however, and she smiled. Belle wasn't sure she'd ever seen anything so off-putting. "But of course, Commodore," she replied, "In that case, I insist on docking as well so that my own engineer can assist you in... maintaining the stability of the region. t'Parthok out."

The bridge was silent for several heartbeats, but Gold actually looked pleased. "That went well," he declared.

"' _Well_ '?" the freighter captain rounded on him. "They're going to board my ship!"

"Yes," Gold nodded, "instead of teaching you the hard way that Romulan shuttles are _armed_."

The captain glowered at him. "You'd let her walk all over my ship and not do anything to stop her? She has one ship, you have three." 

Gold looked at the man, amused, but with a dangerous glint in his eyes that prickled Belle's skin. "My, my, where are you getting your information?" he asked. "So certain the Commander-General only has one ship. And that I have _three_. That's a strange - and specific - thing to assume."

Before the man could reply, one of the bridge crew looked up from her console. "Captain Jones, The Romulan shuttle is requesting permission to dock."

Gold's eyes narrowed at the captain, any trace of amusement gone. "Jones... _Killian_ Jones?" he asked in a chilly tone.

Jones, as if he'd been waiting for this all along, smirked at Gold. "It took you long enough to recognize me... though it has been, what, twenty years? Memory not what it used to be, old boy?"

"Where's Milah?" Gold practically growled, and Belle was sorely tempted to tug on his sleeve like Commander Blanchard.

"Milah?" Jones repeated the name as if it was unfamiliar. "Oh, she's... somewhere." He waved a hand toward the viewscreen and the galaxy beyond it. "Flighty thing."

"Not until she met you," Gold snarled through gritted teeth.

"Yes, well," Jones shrugged, entirely too pleased with himself. "I was rather a catch in my uniform, if I say so myself."

Belle stepped forward and cleared her throat before the conversation could deteriorate further. "Excuse me, sir, the Romulans?"

Gold continued to glare at Jones, and Belle could almost hear a 'this isn't over,' but he collected himself. "Tell the Romulans to dock," he said, "I'll send my people to your sickbay and engineering while we all take a walk down to your cargo hold and examine this 'time-sensitive' merchandise that made you take such a foolish risk." 

"You can't just search my cargo," Jones insisted. "I'm a Federation citizen and I have rights."

"Would you prefer I take my nurse and engineers and leave you to talk about your 'rights' with the Romulans?" Gold countered.

Jones looked at Gold, considering, and even Belle wasn't sure whether the Commodore was bluffing, harrowing as the thought was. The Romulan War had ended a century ago, but their malevolence and viciousness had not been forgotten.

"Very well," Jones nodded, evidently now rather less pleased that Gold remembered their personal history. "Mr. Isaacs, bring the Romulan shuttle into cargo bay 4; have Mr. Hoffman meet them there, and I'll join them as soon as I can. Mr. Smee, you will show our guests in the shuttle bay to sickbay and engineering." A portly man with a red cap stood up from one of the consoles and headed down the corridor they had come from. "Commodore, Captain, and ladies," he winked at Belle, and she repressed a shudder, "this way." He led them down another corridor toward the primary cargo hold.

Belle watched Gold as they walked, wanting to say something or offer some kind of comfort or encouragement at least. Command was a lonely place, but she'd never noticed it as keenly as with him, who already seemed lonelier than most, and who had some difficult and thankless decisions to his name. Facing one now that also involved someone from his past (and what were the odds of that?) seemed exceedingly unfair.

Jones stopped in front of a set of large double doors and looked back at Gold, who regarded him levelly in reply. A muscle twitched in Jones' jaw as he punched in an access code, and stepped to one side as the doors hissed open. Inside, Belle could see crate upon long crate stacked in the hold from floor to ceiling, each bearing the Federation emblem.

Jones stepped into the room and held his arms wide. "There, as I said: supplies for the Federation outpost on Carina IV," he declared.

Gold regarded the crates with suspicion and stepped deeper into the hold, followed by Belle and the rest of his people. There was nothing remarkable about the crates to Belle; the sizes and number seemed reasonable for stocking a remote colony.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a tall man with dark hair walked up, followed by a short, delicate-looking Romulan woman who was accompanied by two larger male Romulans wearing disruptors on their belts. Commander Lucas stepped closer to Gold, and she and the Romulan guards eyed each other, hands hovering near their weapons.

The woman, however, stepped over to Gold and nodded to him, a greeting returned in kind from Gold. It was oddly civil and almost familiar, though it could not be considered warm. " _Jolan tru_ , Commodore," she said, "it is good to meet you in person."

"The honor is mine, Commander-General," he replied. "It is a rare opportunity to meet one's opponent in a relaxed setting." Belle couldn't hide her surprise. This was ' _relaxed_ '?

"Why did you bring them here?" Jones, more agitated than Belle had yet seen him, demanded of his crewman.

"They insisted, captain," the man replied, glancing nervously at the disruptors.

t'Parthok fixed Jones with a hard look. "I will not be kept waiting while you scramble to hide what you would not have us see." 

"I... I have nothing to hide," Jones insisted.

"Excellent," Gold smiled. "Then you won't mind us looking at this cargo that's so important you'd risk the lives of your crew."

Jones couldn't very well refuse now, though he looked like he wanted to. 

"Commander French," Gold turned to her. "Scan these crates, random selection. I want to know the contents." 

"Yes, sir," Belle nodded. She tucked her PADD under her arm and took the tricorder Commander Lucas handed to her, the chief of security never taking her eyes off the Romulans.

Jones's mouth worked for a few moments as the gaze of the two fleet commanders sat heavily on him. Belle saw a small bead of sweat roll down his temple as she passed him to scan the crates.

"I've been hired to move goods from various starbases to Carina IV for the last six months," he explained, earnest as a man on trial. "No questions, just get in, deliver the cargo, and get out. We skirt this damn thing every time; it's faster and I'm a professional with a reputation to maintain. Never had a problem with the run until this one. I don't know how, but this time we fell out of warp. Gravity well, radiation, angry god, who knows."

_That... can't be right,_ Belle frowned at the tricorder readout and adjusted the settings as she moved to another stack.

"My engineer, Mr. Conreid," Jones continued, "was checking the warp drive when there was an explosion: one of those mines hit our nacelle. He and two others were injured, but otherwise the damage was minimal. We just need to get out of here before we hit another one."

Belle looked up from her tricorder at Jones (did he know?), then the Romulans, and then Gold. She wished she could tell him without an audience, but the Commander-General was watching her, apparently more interested in her report than Jones' story. She took a deep breath and walked over to Gold to hand him the tricorder. "They're weapons, sir," she said, "every single crate. Phaser cannon components, weapons-grade power cells , phaser rifles, hand phasers, grenades, energy storage units... There's enough here for a garrison." 


	5. Chapter 5

Jones' face paled. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know the contents. I was paid not to ask questions, just to haul cargo."

Gold read the tricorder screen with a hollow feeling in his stomach. What the hell was going on here? He handed it back to French and narrowed his eyes at Jones. "I find that hard to believe, _Mr_. Jones," he said. He wouldn't dignify this filth the title of 'captain.' "You're an inveterate liar, and not above cutting deals that no one else would come anywhere near. Do you expect us to believe that you took this job and chose such a dangerous path without knowing about your cargo and its implications?"

"Commodore, this is unacceptable," t'Parthok stated hotly, "Smuggling weapons through a demilitarized zone is in direct violation of the Treaty." The two Romulan guards took a step forward, a move matched by Commander Lucas

Hearing a cleared throat, Gold turned and looked at French, who regarded him with her own level gaze. "If I may offer my professional opinion, Commodore: I believe him." 

She could hardly have surprised him more if she had turned green and confessed to being an Orion slave trader. "Commander," he said, "do you have any idea who you are talking about?"

"Yes, sir, I believe I do," she nodded, and turned to regard Jones. "This man is certainly a scoundrel; a liar, as you mentioned; would probably sell his own mother for profit; and likely fight anyone if he felt there was a chance he could win... But this time, at least, he's not lying to save his worthless hide. He's telling the truth to save it."

Jones' face had brightened at French's first words of defense, but then turned into an almost murderous glare as she denounced him. Gold had never thought he would be so fond of her keen perception, nor so proud of the unflinching way she met the smuggler's hostility.

The man broke first, covering with an unconvincing laugh and a seemingly careless shrug. "As I said, love, a man has to earn a living."

Gold's hand clenched at his side. "Which brings me to my question, Mr. Jones. Who hired you?"

Jones looked at him and dared to grin. "As I was never paid to keep my mouth shut, I'd be willing to sell you that information... Commodore."

Gold laughed and tilted his head toward the Romulans. "As far as I see it, Mr. Jones, you're not in any position to negotiate."

t'Parthok cleared her throat. "Knowledge of who hired him does not solve the pressing problem of these weapons. While my government is aware of the settlements along the border, I am sure that if they were to learn that these armaments are intended for a _military_ outpost, the Senate would be... displeased."

Gold turned to look at her, a little unsettled but not surprised to learn the Romulans knew more than Starfleet might wish them to. "And if the weapons never reach their destination?" he suggested, taking a gamble. t'Parthok's reputation, according to intelligence gathered by agents within the Empire, indicated she was not prone to rash, violent response, but he had no wish to find where the limit to her willingness to avoid hostilities fell.

She arched an eyebrow at him and her lips quirked into a little smile. "Then my government would have no interest in the... _scientific_ installation on Carina IV," she replied. Gold tried not to let his relief show too much in front of Jones and his people.

"Where do you intend I take this, then, and get my credits?" Jones challenged.

"You could have started a war, and you're worried about _credits_?!" Nolan fumed at him. Gold could just imagine what a blow to the younger man's idealism it must be that the man he had been so desperate to help turned out to be such a blackguard.

"That will do, Captain," Gold admonished him. The situation was delicate enough without adding high tempers into the mix. He turned back to t'Parthok. "Now, Commander-General, you don't want the weapons to arrive - and, in the interest of peace, neither do I. I propose they be destroyed. My people will repair the _Lennox_ so it may return to Federation space, and Mr. Jones will give us the name of this supplier." Gold suspected he might not like that answer: a secret military base on the edge of the Neutral Zone, this volume of weapons and their level of sophistication... someone high up in Starfleet was either running this scheme or complicit in it.

"Not much in there for me," Jones muses, rubbing his chin. "A barely-functional ship and a loss of cargo hanging over my name? What say, since you're destroying the merchandise, _you_ compensate me for it."

His utter cheek at _still_ vying for his own advantage made Gold wish he could let Nolan have at him. That, sadly, would solve none of their problems, but something else might... Gold looked from Jones to t'Parthok. "Commander-General," he said, grinning, "he is all y-"

"Wait!" Jones yelled, holding up a hand. "Wait... I accept your deal, Commodore," he said through gritted teeth. "And once you've fixed my engine, you can get the hell off my ship."

"Happily, Mr. Jones," Gold replied, his grin turning into a sneer. The less time he spent anywhere near the man, the less likely this would end with blood on the deck. "The name of your client?"

"Very well," Jones conceded, "It was-" He was cut off by the sound of a phaser blast and a red energy beam hit him in the left shoulder. Lucas and the Romulan guards drew and fired as one up into the catwalks above the cargo bay, where the shot had come from. Lucas' phaser would be set to stun, Gold knew, but Romulan disruptors only had one setting; an aborted scream and the sound of a phaser falling to the deck was all that remained of the assailant.

_Damn_ , Gold thought, _They probably had information._ He looked over to Jones, writhing on the deck and moaning in pain, but alive. Gold was hardly sure whether or not to be thankful for the assassin's bad aim. 

French was on her knees, running the tricorder over Jones and frowning. She looked up at Gold, "He's going into shock," she said. "We need to get him to the sickbay, now."

Gold nodded and Lucas and Nolan stepped forward and picked Jones up, if in a slightly rougher manner than might have been necessary. He looked at the crewman who had brought the Romulans, still hovering near the doors. "Take us there," he told the man, who shook himself back to his senses and nodded.

"Of course, yes, this way," he said, and set off at a quick pace. Nolan and Lucas followed him, Jones hanging between them, and Gold offered a hand to French to help her to her feet as Blanchard and the Romulans fell in behind them.

The _Lennox_ 's medbay was small, and Ariel shooed everyone back out once Jones was laid on a table; except for Gold and t'Parthok, whom she wouldn't dare, and French, who moved effortlessly into assisting her and handed over the tricorder and a hypospray. Ariel looked at the readout and quickly applied the hypo to Jones' neck to stabilize him. "What happened?" she asked no one in particular as she slowed down to more carefully examine the wound, and without waiting for an answer, said, "Scissors," and held out her hand.

Loath though he was to admit Jones could be anything near helpful, Gold replied, "He was shot, trying to give us information," as French placed a pair of scissors in the Andorian's hand.

"Well," Ariel said, cutting the charred fabric away from the wound, "that shot all but destroyed his shoulder. He'll live, but without surgery, he's lost the use of his left arm."

"What?!" Jones objected, and tried to sit up, but a slim blue hand on his good shoulder kept him pinned to the table. "You can fix it, right, love?" he implored Ariel. 

"I'm not a surgeon," she replied, unmoved by his flattery, "but you're stable enough to get to one, at least."

"The _Iowa_ can tow you back to a starbase, and her CMO can patch you and your engineer up," Gold said, "Give me the name I want."

"It's Glass," Jones replied, "I swear that's all I know. The payment he promised, I wasn't inclined to pry."

Gold repressed a sigh. 'Glass,' if it even was the client's real name, told him nothing. It hardly seemed worth all this trouble. "Is this Mr. Glass the one who told you about my three ships?" he asked.

Jones nodded. "Said to avoid you, and told me this route."

"How unfortunate for you," Gold replied, with not much sympathy at all, and turned to t'Parthok as Ariel set to work on his shoulder. "Commander-General, I have people working in Engineering to get the impulse drive back online. Once that's done and the _Lennox_ can make its way back to Federation space, we'll transport the injured and jettison the cargo and destroy it; you are, of course, welcome to observe from this side of the border, if you like."

t'Parthok shook her head. "Commodore, you seem honorable - for a human - but I cannot allow these weapons back into Federation space, or even within transporter range of your ship. They will be destroyed _here_. My shuttle is sufficiently armed for the task, and I have no desire to wait for your inconsequential repairs."

Gold considered this, and nodded. "Mr. Jones," he said, turning back to the man on the table, "it appears you've been waylaid by some 'pirates.' I suggest you comply with their demands."

Jones glared at Gold until t'Parthok stepped closer to him. "Captain," she said, "give the order to jettison those weapons." Jones looked as though he _wanted_ to glare at t'Parthok, too, but he wilted in the face of her implacable presence.

"Hoffman," he called toward the hallway, and the crewman poked his head through the door. "Unsecure the cargo in the main bay," he said, and Gold tried not to grin at the sigh in his voice, "and vent it."

"Aye, cap," Hoffman nodded.

"Nolan, Blanchard, Lucas, stay with Jones," Gold instructed. "I'll accompany the Commander-General back to the cargo bay and her shuttle."

French looked from him to Ariel, who seemed to understand the unspoken question and nodded, "I'm fine here, thank you, Commander."

French smiled and walked beside him as they and the Romulans followed Hoffman back to the cargo bay.

"Thoughts, Counselor?" he asked as they walked. Having her tagging along at his heels was proving to be not quite as objectionable as he had expected.

"Well, sir, making a deal with the Romulans is... unconventional. And though I agree with it, I fear it may come back to bite you somehow."

Gold laughed a little. "Most things do," he replied wryly.

"There's no telling what Jones will report to his client, this Glass person who seems to know too much. And Captain Nolan..."

Gold grinned. "I'm fairly certain that Nolan will prefer to ignore this whole thing ever happened, given his own insubordination and these circumstances being far from the damsel-in-distress he thought he was rushing off to help."

French smiled and shook her head as they approached the cargo bay doors, where Hoffman typed a code into a panel on the wall; soon a light began to flash and a klaxon sounded, and a computerized voice counted down the imminent depressurization. They all watched the panel as it reported the outer doors opening, and they heard thunks against the deck as the crates tumbled out into space. When the doors closed and the airlock light turned green again, Hoffman opened the interior doors to show them the now-empty bay.

"These were all of them?" t'Parthok asked Hoffman, who nodded vigorously.

"Yes, sir, umm, ma'am... Commander-General," he stammered and bowed awkwardly.

"Then we're done here," she declared, and turned to Gold and inclined her head to him. "Commodore," she said, "May our next meeting be so agreeable."

Gold returned her nod. "Indeed, Commander-General."

Without another word, she and her guards marched off to the smaller bay where their shuttle waited.

"Now, Mr. Hoffman," Gold turned to the crewman. "This assassin, did you see who it was?" he asked.

Hoffman nodded. "Yeah, that... was Gus. He joined the crew about four, maybe five months ago. Came with good references, according to the captain."

"I'll bet he did," Gold replied, certain Jones would no longer consider Glass a 'good reference.' "Did this Gus receive any private communications? Did he have any odd habits?"

Hoffman shook his head, "Not really. Did you want to check his things?"

"Please," Gold nodded, and Hoffman led him and French to the crew quarters.

"This was his," Hoffman said as he opened a door, and Gold's hopes fell; the man wouldn't keep anything incriminating behind an unlocked door. They stepped inside and looked around the tiny, spartan room. A footlocker labeled 'A.W. Booth' yielded nothing but changes of clothes and a deck of cards, which Gold tossed back into it with a disgusted sigh.

"Thank you, Mr. Hoffman, that will be all." Gold said, "We can find our way back."

Hoffman nodded and walked away, leaving him alone with French in the would-be assassin's - and, he suspected, saboteur's - room.

"What are you thinking, sir?" French asked as she ran her hands under the edge of the mattress and came up empty.

Gold sighed. "Nothing good, Counselor," he replied.

" _Is_ there anything good to think about learning of secret shipments of weapons to a supposed civilian outpost in proximity to the Romulan Neutral Zone?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Fair point," he nodded. "This is all too much to be a coincidence. The _Lennox_ 'falling out of warp.' It even being here at all, recommended by the mysterious Mr. Glass..."

"Glass must be Starfleet," French observed. "You and your ships and your route aren't general knowledge, and those weapons weren't civilian black market."

Gold shook his head. "No, I doubt Glass himself is Starfleet," he said. "It's too sloppy. He's probably just someone else's catspaw."

French nodded at that. "I... couldn't help but notice, sir, that you seem to have some history with captain Jones," she said, "May I ask, who is Milah?"

Gold sighed. He supposed he would never have been able to avoid this conversation, given French's job. "Milah was my wife," he replied.

"And Jones..."

"Swept her off her feet while I was deployed," he said. "I suppose I should have expected as much, lonely as she was, and beautiful. Jones went rogue and resigned his commission and they flew off into the sunset. All very romantic."

"I'm sorry," she said, and seemed to mean it.

"Yes, well," he shrugged.

"Do you think Glass, or whoever is pulling his strings, placed Jones here in your path on purpose?" she asked. "To, perhaps, impair your judgement?"

"Hm," he mused. "I didn't know it was Jones until I came aboard. Which I would not have done if I hadn't needed to bring Nolan to heel."

"Surely you don't suspect Captain Nolan?!" she gasped.

"No, no, of course," he almost laughed. "He's insubordinate but he isn't disloyal. But whoever set this up knew that if I wouldn't answer a distress call from within the Neutral Zone, he would." 

"So this person knows both of you."

Gold nodded. "And wanted to tweak my nose by making me deal with Jones." He was no golden boy, he knew, but only one would engineer such a spitefully personal strike. He looked over at French, whom _Mills_ had placed on his ships. "... and ensured someone was on hand to officially report my 'impaired judgement'."

French blanched. "I'm not. Sir, I swear..."

Gold considered her; eyes wide, not in panic at having been discovered, but in earnest shock and dismay at being suspected at all. "No," he said, turning away from her, "you're just a catspaw, too."

The moment it passed his lips, he could have winced as he imagined the look on her face. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "That was unfair."

"Yes, it was," French replied just as softly, and an awkward silence descended on the room.

Belle cleared her throat. "You think it's Admiral Mills, then," she said, moving past the discomfort and back to the subject at hand.

Gold nodded. "This has her shortsighted pettiness written all over it."

"Why would she...?"

He laughed again. "I have a complicated history with her, too," he said, and she decided _that_ was a conversation for another day.

"What do you mean to do?"

"Without any evidence?" Gold shrugged. "Nothing. We seem to have dodged a bullet here, with t'Parthok's willingness to negotiate."

"More 'history'?" Belle asked, wondering how much of Gold's history had _not_ ended up in his official record.

"No, no," he shook his head. "I'd never met her before this. But I have a dossier on her, as well as other key figures within the Romulan Empire, and I suspect she has one on me. We were lucky it was her - most other Romulans are even more xenophobic."

"Something Admiral Mills couldn't have planned," she observed.

"Indeed," Gold nodded. His communicator chirped and he flicked it open. "Gold."

_"Sir, this is Doc. The impulse engines are ready to go, and should hold long enough to get out of here."_

"Good work, Doc," Gold said. "I expect you and your men will want to stay and supervise?"

_"Yes, sir. With the_ Lennox _'s engineer out of commission, they don't have anyone qualified."_

"Permission granted, then."

_"Thank you, sir. Doc out."_

>"Ariel will want to stay with her patients, too," Belle noted.

"That she will," Gold nodded, and thumbed his communicator again. "Captain Nolan."

_"Nolan here,"_ the captain's voice replied.

"Captain, Doc reports the impulse engines are online. He and Ariel and their security escorts will remain onboard and the rest of us will return to the shuttles and lead the _Lennox_ out of here."

_"Understood, sir."_

"Gold out," he said, and closed the flap. "Shall we, Counselor?" Gold said as he returned it to its holster.

Belle nodded and picked her PADD up off the bed, and they left the dead man's room and headed toward the shuttle bay.

"I trust I can rely on your discretion, in regards to my suspicion of Admiral Mills?" Gold asked as they walked.

"Our suspicion, Commodore," Belle corrected, "And yes, you can."

Gold gave her a little sideways smile, probably the most genuine she'd ever seen from him. "Then, Commander, I think we'll get along just fine."

Belle couldn't help her smirk. "Does this mean you'll stop avoiding an appointment with me?"

"Of course," Gold replied. "In fact, I look forward to it."

Belle smiled back at him. "As do I, Commodore."

_~ FIN ~_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, dearie, for the fun prompt; [ishtarelisheba](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ishtarelisheba) for beta-ing and cheering; and my husband, fact-checker and fellow Trek geek - without whom this would probably have been just a little one-shot, but whose enthusiasm actually hatched a plot! (seriously, y’all should have heard him giggling about this).


End file.
